


Kinktober Day 14: Breath Play w/Frank Castle

by sweeterthanthis



Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mentions of Death, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Dark Themes, heavy breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthanthis/pseuds/sweeterthanthis
Summary: You push Frank just a little too far, and you love every second of it.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Reader, Frank Castle/You
Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134725
Kudos: 19





	Kinktober Day 14: Breath Play w/Frank Castle

You weren’t frightened when you saw your apartment door ajar. You knew it would be him.

Who else could it be? The blood smears on the handle gave him away every time.

Closing the door behind you, you threw down your purse, shrugging your coat off and kicking off your shoes. Making straight for the kitchen, you grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey from the sideboard, swigging from it and clenching your eyes shut from the sting.

“You know Frank, you really gotta stop shooting up the clubs I work at. I got no idea how I’m gonna pay the fucking rent this month thanks to you.” You huffed, genuinely frustrated at being unemployed for the third time in as many months. “You look like shit, by the way.”

He really did. Purple bruises smattered against his flesh, knuckles bloody and exhaustion oozing from every pore. That old familiar tortured look in face was ever-present, his shoulders hunched forward and his elbows resting on his knees.

“Your boss was an asshole, deserved every bullet.” He muttered, his voice hoarse, tiny speckles of crimson adorning his lips. “Why you gotta work in those shit piles, anyway?”

You laughed, throwing your head back in amusement and taking another long swig from the bottle in your hand. Frank’s expression never faltered, stone cold composure just like always.

“I ain’t good at anythin’ else, Frankie. I’m startin’ to think your gettin’ protective over little old me.” You goaded; your shitty mood insuppressible. “I don’t need you watchin’ over me.”

Frank stood then, his monstrous form overshadowing yours. You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sheer strength that radiated off of him. He snatched the bottle from your hands, your whole body jerking away from him causing his lips to twitch into the slightest smirk.

He enraged you. Always had, and probably always would. Disappearing for weeks on end, and then popping up like some kind of twisted fairy godmother when shit went south.

“You feelin’ guilty, Frank? Just because you killed my daddy, don’t mean you gotta take care of me.” You spat, knowing it would hit a nerve, yet not giving one single shit. “Or maybe you’re crushin’, huh? You jealous Frank? All you gotta do is ask, I’ll give you a good time.”

Goading him was one of your favorite past times, honestly.

Your blood was pumping, your words fueled by whiskey and months of pent up tension between the two of you. You saw the way he looked at you. His face gave nothing away, not a single muscle twitching as he stared down at you – but his eyes, they told another story all together.

A dark, hungry gaze that made you want to clench your thighs in need. You wondered if he could sense it too.

“I don’t feel guilty, sweetheart. Your daddy was an asshole too.”

You felt your chest tighten just a little, his harsh words fueling the already burning fire inside of you. He was right though. Your daddy was an asshole. 

You didn’t know whether to kiss him or punch him in the face. What you did know, was that neither of those options would go without consequence.

“I’m fucking tired Frank,” you sighed, “I’m not your fucking wife; find someone else to save.”

You regretted the words the instant they slipped off your tongue, his huge hand encasing your throat in an instant rush of emotion that dizzied you completely; your senses overwhelmed with sheer terror as he squeezed, his jaw clenching in fury.

“Don’t you fuckin’ talk about her.” He spat; teeth still ground together. “You hear me? Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk about her.”

You were petrified, your heart battering against your ribcage and your eyes pooling with tears.

It wasn’t just fear though. It never was with him.

The arousal that washed over you while he had you there, back pressed up against the wall and bloodied hand wrapped around your throat; this was the kind of shit you thought about when you were alone late at night, the nights when you’d give anything for him to just turn up out of the blue and rail the fuck out of you.

“Frank…” you croaked, your windpipe crushing under the weight of his palm and your cheeks turning red. His grip softened just a touch; head cocked to the side as he studied you.

Warmth radiated off him, the scent of gunpowder seeping into the air. You couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped your lips when his sternum grazed your chest, your nipples pebbling instantly at the contact.

“Oh, I see how it is. You like that shit, don’t you?” He teased, his breath fanning your face as he leant against the wall behind you, palm splayed out above your head. “That what this is? You get your kicks by pissin’ me off?”

Your skirt hitched up as Franks knee settled between yours, his hulking thigh pressed up against your cotton covered core. For a moment, you thought you could feel the pad of his thumb brush against your jawline. You couldn’t have though; Frank wasn’t like that.

When the pressure reached your sensitive bundle of nerves, you shivered. Just a little. Enough for him to see the effect he was having on your body, your mind losing the race of reason.

“You’re a twisted little bitch, aintcha?” His tone told you it wasn’t an insult and the rare twinkle in his eye gave away his interest, his hand loosening on your throat just a touch.

“Why’d you think we get along so fuckin’ well?” You snarked, jutting your nose high in the air and stepping up on your tip toes, almost as if to challenge him. Which was laughable, of course. He simply looked amused, lips twitching up into a smirk.

“Watch yourself, girl.” He gruffed, eyes wandering down over your breasts; crimson smears adoring your heaving cleavage like warpaint.

“Or what, Frankie?” You purred, craning your neck just enough, your teeth grazing his throat. You tongue snaked between your lips – the metallic taste of blood prickling at your taste buds.

His adam’s apple bobbed against your lips, jaw clenching while he tried to refrain from losing it. You smirked against the hollow of his throat, lulling your head back against the wall with a soft thud and staring up at him.

Frank eyes flickered down to your blood-smeared chest, a deep growl rumbling in the air. You couldn’t help yourself, winding your hips down onto his thigh once again for your own satisfaction.

“You know what you’re in for if you keep that up, girl?”

It was a warning, and it only made your cunt throb even more; his black combat trousers soaked with your slick as you swirled your hips against him again.

“I’m a big girl now, Frank. I can take it.” Your hand wrapped around his wrist, urging his hand back around your throat and squeezing his fist with your fingertips.

He leant forward, and for a moment you thought he might kiss you, his bruised lips feathering against your chin as they made their way down your chest; his teeth tugging at the neckline of your vest top, your breasts spilling out over the top.

He held you there, pinned at the neck and his thigh grinding up against your cunt. The noises that spilled from your lips were inhuman; primal. His teeth bit at your nipples sharply; purple bruises forming as he suckled at them hungrily.

“Fuck Frank…” you breathed, the grip around your throat tightening enough to make your breath hitch.

His hands tore at your vest, material ripping right down the middle and hanging loosely around your elbows. He fell to his knees then, one hand still squeezing your windpipe and the other tearing down your drenched panties, unhooking them from your heels and tossing them across the room.

“You always this fuckin’ wet when I’m around?” He teased, draping your legs over his strong, muscular shoulders to keep you upright.

His grip softened when you failed to answer, whining pathetically at the loss of pressure.

“Answer me, girl.” He mumbled against your quivering folds, teeth nipping at your clit causing you to grind against his face.

“Shit…yes, fuck Frank, yes I’m always this wet.”

His tongue lapped at you in reward, lips encasing your pussy lips. His thumb pressed against your jugular, your eyes bulging as your breath faltered. Fright and desire had wracked you, merging to create a whirl of emotions while he feasted between your thighs.

You felt two thick fingers slide inside of you, your cunt clenching around them in need, velvet walls fluttering as he stroked the spongey flesh deep inside.

You sobbed, desperate for breath, unable to bring yourself to beg for air. You felt blood pounding in your ears, your lungs burning as the last bit of breath slipped from your lips. You didn’t care, the way the tip of his tongue stroked at your clit had you shaking, completely blissed out.

Your eyes flickered closed, painted lashes fanned out against your skin as he looked up between your breasts, your lips turning just a slight shade of purple. You looked utterly wild, and he was thriving on it.

“Atta girl, cum for me.”

His hand released your throat, and your head felt like it might explode as a wave of potent pleasure crashed into you, juices spilling down his chin and forearm. You tried to scream, to cry out his name, but you couldn’t.

Frank didn’t let up, eating you through two more orgasms before wiping his face against your inner thigh, his stubble burning your skin. You looked down, flesh coated in drying blood from the nasty gash on his chest. And for some twisted fucking reason, you smile. 

He lowered you to the ground softly, covering your breasts with what was left of your vest top. You couldn’t help but smile again at that little touch of chivalry, his eyebrows raising at you as you did so. 

You could have taken his head off when he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and setting them down on the counter beside you, your eyes snapping to him in fury at the implied insult.

“Swiped that from your boss, pay the rent for the next six months will ya? Got some bloody nights comin’ up.” He soothed, hands as if he were trying to pacify a rabid animal. “Take care’a yourself, sweetheart.”

He left you there slumped against the wall, body limp and boneless; fingertips tracing the curve of your throat as you grinned to yourself before your eyes flickered closed.

Frank Castle had, quite literally, taken your breath away. And you couldn’t wait for round two.


End file.
